Missing Moments from The Monkey Puzzle Tree
by Upeasterner
Summary: Bickering with the Captain over furniture, a Monkey Puzzle tree – over control of a house that was her home precisely because it was his ship – what was that about, after everything they'd already shared?


"_You'll reckon with me if you touch the mast of my ship"_

"_Your ship – or our home?"_

"_My ship, Mrs. Muir! I am Captain here!"_

"_Maybe I should look for a house that isn't a ship – one of those new little cottages down by the school…But I do love this old place…On the other hand, one of those cottages would be more convenient for the children – and more peaceful for me."_

"_A house to you. A ship to me. We won't quarrel over words."_

"_It's not just words. I have to have a home for my children - …" _

Carolyn patted the last bit of soil around the Monkey Tree, and secured the 'puny specimen' with the string and stakes the nurseryman recommended. Her back was stiff when she stood, out-of-sorts from the 24-hour trip to Boston.

She made it into the parlor and sank into the old sofa without bothering to remove her coat. Disinterestedly, she stared at the stack of mail Martha left to be sorted on the coffee table. The old divan was comfortable. Carolyn lay on her side, knees slightly bent and kicked her shoes off, tucking her feet into the warmth of the cushions with her last bit of energy. Just a minute, she thought pleasantly. A totally, eternally female and completely irrational nap before climbing all those stairs. The corner of her lips turned briefly into a smile as she imagined him above, still striding furiously up and down the Widow's Walk. If only she could touch 'the mast of my ship.'

Rain lashed the windows, but it was the storm that awakened her finally, not the persistent tapping of the old Monkey Puzzle Tree, now withering away in some country dump. Someone had draped a wool blanket over her legs. Carolyn struggled to sit up, tangled in its folds, and in the instant of the lightning flash saw the Captain seated across from her in the overstuffed armchair, lost in thought.

"I really am sorry, Captain." She brushed the hair out of her eyes as she righted herself and unbuttoned the bulky coat. He silently met her gaze as a fire sprung to life in the hearth, blazing merrily as though he'd lit it when she first came in.

"Would you really prefer a house that wasn't a ship, a cottage by the school?" he asked plaintively.

Sadness etched its way across the weatherworn features of his spectacular face. What had she done? Bickering with the Captain over furniture, a tree – over control of a house that was her home precisely because it was his ship – what was that about, after everything they'd already shared?

Carolyn smoothed her skirt and picked lint from the blanket off her stockings.

"No," she said simply, finally. "I think I'll let you do the sailing from now on. Right here, in Gull Cottage."

"Well then," he said, and stood, crossing to the elegant wooden table-bar where he poured them each a drink. "Here's to us. But I'll let you steer a course out of these doldrums."

Carolyn smiled, and raised eyebrows then, her glass in a toast.

"Any course, Captain Gregg? Or the one I think we've already charted?"

"Aye, Madame. Those bearings will do nicely. Straight ahead, and –"

"Right up to bed?" she whispered, relieved yet emboldened by the golden amber of Cognac now filtering through her veins, straight to her head. "Blast!"

"Blast is right, me dear. When's the last time you ate or slept?" He peered closely at her face.

"I'm not drunk – sir!"

At least that's what she remembered saying in the morning, when she found herself fully clothed and tucked comfortably into the mahogany bed in the Master Cabin. Embarrassed, she pulled the covers over her head – just as she'd raised her arms to embrace his neck last night. He was definitely not as incorporeal as he liked to pretend. Vaguely, she remembered the brush of his lips on hers, just before she passed out, more tired than she could ever remember.

Somebody sat on the bed beside her and peeled back the covers.

"Mom!" It was Jonathan. "He's back!"

"Midshipman Muir, belay that tack. Let your mother awaken properly!"

"Aye, aye, Captain sir!"

The Captain raised an eyebrow and Jonathan scampered out the door.

"Coffee, Mrs. Muir?" he asked companionably.

"Such a pleasant way to begin a voyage, Captain."


End file.
